Sir Thomas’s Bride_Masterful Husbands_Book One, page 6
"Yes, sir." Margaret's voice was barely above a whisper. Thomas smiled, that was a very good sign. "Good. You shall receive ten strokes."
He raised his arm and flicked his wrist allowing the cane to strike against the crown of her bottom cheeks. A white line which quickly turned into livid red, now decorated her rear end. Margaret shrieked loudly and wagged her backside up and down.
"Since you did not count that one, Margaret, it does not count toward your punishment. I shall begin again."
"Oh no, Thomas, please I will remember, One, thank you, sir!" "Very well," he agreed, taking pity on her.
Another flick of his wrist and another stripe fell precisely below the first. Margaret screamed and gasped, "Two, thank you, sir!"
Another blow and the same result, until they reached nine and Margaret's bottom now resembled the rear end of a striped humbug sweet.
She was sobbing so hard it was difficult for her to talk but she finally held still for the last switch and managed to cry out, "Ten, thank you, sir!"
She knelt, her face pressed down into the chair, weeping piteously, her hands reached back and held her scorched cheeks, gently running her hands down over her punished bottom.
Thomas returned the cane to the cabinet before he went to Margaret and lifted her into his arms. He sat back down in the padded chair and settled her onto his knee. She hissed as she settled but nestled into his chest, immediately accepting his comfort. Thomas cuddled his errant wife, enjoying her soft vulnerability as she burrowed into his shoulder and appeared to welcome his reassurance. After ten minutes or so, Margaret had calmed and Thomas wiped her face gently with his handkerchief, drying her tears.
"I am so sorry, Thomas, you are right. I agree, I was rude, but in my defence, Rose
Mortimer said..."
Thomas placed his hand over her mouth. "I do not want to hear any more and I certainly don't want to be given another reason to have to punish you today. So, my dear, I suggest that you do not finish that sentence. I accept your apology but I should like you to show me by your actions just how sorry you are by making an act of atonement."
Margaret looked suspiciously at her husband whose roguish smile was back. "W-what do you mean?"
Thomas kissed her cheek. "I shall direct you. Now then, kneel down here in front of me please and then accept my manhood into your mouth. You already know how, for you have done this before and you will be thus be prepared for my essence to fill your mouth and therefore, be ready to swallow."
Margaret slipped to her knees blushing furiously as she watched Thomas unhook his fall allowing his shaft to push free of constraint. He placed his hands into the front of her dress and scooped out her breasts, leaving them brazenly exposed to his lascivious gaze.
His wife made a decadent picture, with her rosy nipples hardening under his perusal. Thomas stroked her hair back from her pink face and slipped his hand behind her head, easing Margaret's head forward as he held his cock ready in hand, guiding it between her parted lips. Obediently, Margaret took the swollen head of his phallus and sucked as her husband had requested her. Thomas groaned at the silken touch of her mouth as he slid into the warmth and wetness of her cheek. Her tongue swirled over and under his pulsing member. His erection surged and pleasure pulsed through his loins as he watched Margaret suckle him, his half closed eyes glittering with lust.
His hips jerked as exquisite waves of roiling heat surged delightfully upward inside his rod. He was ready to spill and with an arousing shiver, pulsing and intense waves throbbing powerfully upward through his cock, Thomas released. He growled and groaned as he filled his wife's mouth with the evidence of his pleasure. This time he noted she swallowed every drop of his essence obediently. His little wasp was indeed slowly losing her sting.
Chapter 11
The Masquerade Ball held at The Queen's House in aid of the Foundling Home, appeared to Margaret to be a resounding success. The ball room was packed with everyone who was anyone and the icing on the cake had to be the attendance of King George and Queen Charlotte, albeit that they had arrived rather late on in the evening but still they had made an appearance. The revellers were all masked and Thomas, she knew, was wearing a pirate's black eye patch which suited his soft bearded face to perfection, only adding to the rakish gleam that shone constantly in his merry blue eyes.
Lady Margaret sported a black cat eye mask, which Lady Rose Mortimer privately thought suited Margaret to perfection! Rose herself wore a mask covered in exquisitely soft, pink velvet roses.
Lady Mortimer had arranged a touching tableau for her guests to enjoy, aimed at tugging at people's heartstrings and opening their purses. She had gathered a group of the most appealing children from the Foundling Home and had them dressed in white muslin dresses and sky blue waist sashes. They were seated corralled together with a small zoo of cute and cuddly petting animals. The children and their nurse were seated behind a low white picket fence, which was set at the opposite end of the room to the orchestra. There was even a rather spirited young goat, which was obviously at the end of its limited patience as it slid and skittered about on the straw strewn marble floor. The children were by now tired and irritable in the generated heat of two hundred plus candles that illuminated the bodies that danced and jostled one another for space in the overcrowded room.
Margaret stood to one side sipping her lemonade punch and watched the dancing couples moving in and out of a minuet.
"Lady Margaret? It is you; I thought as much. Where is your husband, my lady?"
Margaret swung around and found she was being addressed by another of Thomas's close friends, the young Viscount Weston. He was accompanied by the young sister of Lord Benedict Mortimer, Imogene Mortimer.
"Sir," Margaret sunk into a curtsy and Charles Weston took her hand in his and kissed it. Margaret noticed that Imogene executed a brief curtsy, in deference to Margaret's married state.
"I have not seen Thomas for a little while so I cannot be of assistance. Is the matter urgent?" she asked attempting to be helpful. As Thomas had predicted, her daily spankings were extremely good at reminding her of society's expectations, especially regarding manners. Her husband was pleased with himself, it seemed, rather than with Margaret, whose improved behaviour was actually responsible for the results.
"No matter, for I have spotted him. It seems that he is dancing the minuet with Lady
Mortimer."
Margaret turned to look in the direction that Charles Weston had pointed, and to her dismay, she saw her husband grinning rakishly down at Rose Mortimer. Margaret's teeth ground with jealousy. Why he had only danced the one dance with his own wife so far this evening, although Margaret had been secretly touched that it was the romantic Allemande, which had been the choice of dance that Thomas insisted he dance with his wife.
The Allemande was a kaleidoscope of complicated handholds between the man and the woman, the final handhold was finished with the couple moving face to face and ending in a close arm in arm embrace.
Margaret sighed. She wanted to dance with her husband again, perhaps if she disappeared from view Thomas might come looking for her and so she excused herself and idled over to where the children's tableau was set, standing behind the exhibit and thus well screened from the dancer's view.
The tableau was not quite so appealing now as the stench of animal faeces hung fetid in the air and the white clothed children were now smeared with animal excrement and bits of straw. They were no longer cuddling the small creatures they were penned in with but attempting to avoid them as each animal grew distressed at their incarceration and attempted to bite and worry their fellow inmates.
"Ere missus, can us have summat to drink? We is right thirsty and these here animals have pooped everywhere!"
"Aye missus can we go and get some food to eat?"
"I'm 'ungry!"
"I need to piss, missus!"
"Me too!"
"I want to go back to us 'ome!"
Margaret stared thoughtfully at the hot and whining youngsters. Someone really should be seeing to these children's needs. Where was the Foundling Home nursemaid; the one who was supposed to be staying with them all evening? Looking about, she could see no one to ask and so she nodded at the little picket gate,
"Let yourselves out and go to the table for some refreshment. Those of you who require relief, the chamber set aside for er, pissing, is upstairs on the left."
Margaret had to step aside swiftly as a small stampede of hot and hungry little ones raced through the gate, all eager to fulfil their individual and desperate needs. Unfortunately, being so young and irresponsible, they made no attempt to restrain the menagerie of rabbits, guinea pigs, puppies and even, Margaret noted with a shudder as they scuttled by her at full speed, a couple of large white rats.
Most desperate of all to escape, was the extremely boisterous young billy goat.
Margaret watched with open mouthed amusement, as the assembled guests were invaded by the zoo of small animals. Mayhem ensued and ladies' screams rent the air coupled with shouts of 'tally-ho' as the gentleman rallied in an attempt to catch the furry wee beasties. The debacle turned the ball into a rout. The goat leapt up onto the refreshment table and bounced along it on all four legs, grabbing mouthfuls of the table cloth as he went. There was an almighty crash as hundreds of glasses hit the marble floor as the goat landed in the middle of a piled tier of crystal goblets.
Margaret began to giggle at the hilarious uproar. That was until a deep male voice whispered into her ear from behind.
"If I find that you are in any way responsible for any of this, you will not sit pretty for a month of Sundays, my dear!"
Margaret spun about and faced her husband. His face was grim with no hint of his roguish smile. In fact, his eyes glittered, cold and icy. Margaret shivered despite the heat within the room.
A scream rent the air and a woman hurled herself across the ball room at Margaret. Thomas quickly leapt protectively in front of his wife.
"You horrible wicked woman, how could you do this and deliberately!" It was Rose Mortimer, her face twisted with fury.
Margaret blanched. "N-no I did not..."
"Don't you dare try to deny it, you, you harridan, I saw you open that gate!"
Benedict Mortimer arrived looking extremely hot and bothered. "Darling Rose, please calm down!"
Lady Rose Mortimer spun around and screeched at her husband. "Calm down? That harpy ruined my ball! Calm down you say, the hell I will, that woman is pure evil..."
"That is quite enough, Rose!" Benedict Mortimer scooped an arm around his furious wife and dragged her, protesting and squealing, from the room.
People were silent at first, frozen with shock at the vulgar display of vitriol and temper and then they began to whisper behind fans, staring antagonistically at Margaret. Thomas slipped an arm about his wife's waist and hurried her to collect their cloaks; they were leaving immediately.
No one had even unmasked as yet since it was still only ten thirty of the clock and unmasking had not been due until midnight.
Chapter 12
Margaret sat opposite her husband perusing him nervously. He hadn't spoken to her once since they entered the coach and now they were very nearly home.
"I..." she began, but Thomas held up his palm to stop her talking.
"We shall discuss this at home in our bedchamber. You will go straight up to our chamber when we arrive home and see to your toilette. Dismiss Hockley before I join you upstairs. I am in need of a brandy." He turned his face to the darkened window and stared out into the night. Margaret shivered. He was so unlike himself it made her fearful.
After Hockley had discretely slipped away, Margaret paced the room. She froze mid-step as the door opened and Thomas stepped inside the chamber. He walked straight to her and held out his hand. Hesitantly Margaret placed her palm in his. Thomas led her to her dressing table stool and bid her be seated. He stood a little way back and studied her, his perusal swept her from top to toe.
"I wish to hear nothing but the truth from you, Margaret, and things will go better for you tonight and always if you are truthful. I am a fair and even handed fellow and I value honesty highly. Now then, explain to me just what occurred this evening."
Margaret took a deep breath. "Truly, I meant no harm, Thomas. When I reached the children's pen, their nurse had vanished. The children called to me piteously. They needed to relieve themselves and they all were hot and thirsty and so I-I opened the gate, not thinking that the animals would all rush out in the way that they did!"
Thomas sighed. "Why did you not ask me or Benedict or Charles Weston before you did something that proved to be so totally disruptive?"
Margaret hung her head. "I don't know, I was there and you were dancing with that colonial woman..."
"Ah, now we're getting to the truth of the matter!"
"No, no, truly it was not done out of malice, Thomas!"
"Well, my dear, whatever your motive, the result was the same and it could have all been avoided by some forethought on your behalf and so I would say as your husband, that you deserve to be punished. Stay where you are seated and come to me when I call you."
Margaret waited where she was sitting at her dressing table and watched, curious, as Thomas disappeared into the dressing room. He could be heard banging about inside the smaller room as though moving furniture around. Margaret wondered if perhaps Thomas was pulling out the single bed and planning on sleeping in the dressing room that night.
"Margaret, you may join me now," he finally called. Margaret walked into the room and saw that Thomas had pulled out the strange ottoman from its usual place against the wall. It was now centrally situated within the room.
"Remove your nightgown please."
Reluctantly Margaret pulled her gown up and over her head.
"Come here and bend over the end of this box." Thomas indicated that she lie lengthways along the longer line of the padded, suede leather top.
Reluctantly Margaret did as her husband bid her.
"Let your arms hang down either side of the box."
Reluctantly Margaret laid her face sideways, her cheek resting on the soft brown suede and spread her arms either side of her chest, she let them hang down either side as instructed.
Thomas bent down and at the side of the box he pulled out a hidden suede cuff which he attached to Margaret's wrist before moving around to the other side to do the same to her other wrist.
"Now part your legs and let your feet dangle either side of the box." Reluctantly Margaret did as Thomas requested.
Thomas pulled out another hidden cuff from inside the side of the box and attached it to his wife's ankle before moving to the other side to repeat the process with her other foot.
Thomas then went to his armoire and after opening the door, he rummaged about and returned with a long leather strap.
"Since the cane has had so little effect on your behaviour, Margaret, I thought perhaps a taste of the strap might effect a change in your behaviour. I shall spank first and then you will receive twenty-five slaps with the strap and you will count each stroke as they fall."
The soft flesh of her bottom rippled under his hand as he spanked her bottom to warm her for the strap. He could not fail to enjoy the sight of her rosy rounded derriere. His pego hardened and his stones tightened but Thomas knew that his wife required discipline and he would supply that before he even considered his own pleasure. He picked up the strap.
Reluctantly Margaret counted 'one' as the first searing stripe fell across her bottom. She followed the count with a shocked squeal. She reluctantly counted 'two' and this time, screamed. By the time she had counted out ten, her arse was afire and she was praying aloud for her ordeal to be over and done with.
Thomas paused and Margaret held her breath, was he stopping at ten? Oh please let him be finished at ten!
"Margaret, I love you and I want you to know that. I am not punishing you simply for my own amusement you know. I do believe that my methods will affect a change of heart within you, and once you are of a sweeter disposition, I know that you will become a happier woman."
Margaret was about to reply somewhat acerbically to this pretty speech, when the heavy strap landed fire across her backside once again and she yelped, shrieking with pain but also with white hot rage. She fought her restraints and screamed furious abuse at her husband, whose answer was to lash his naughty wife's bottom harder and faster until Margaret subsided, limp over the ottoman in submissive and abject misery, torrents of tears falling as she wept piteously, soaking the suede cover that rested under her cheek.
Thomas placed the strap onto the single bed and waited for his wife to collect herself. Her crying softened and she quieted, giving the occasional whimper and sniff. He ran his hands over her scarlet mounds that were hot and looked rather swollen. He went to the jug and ewer, pouring a little of the cooling tepid water into the china ewer basin. He fetched a clean kerchief from his chest of drawers and soaked the cloth. Wringing out the water, he went to his wife and swabbed her punished arse. Margaret moaned a contrite 'thank you' in a small voice. Thomas smiled, ah, so she was learning.
Next he rinsed the cloth out and wiped her face, kissing her hot flushed cheek near the side of her mouth. He then poured the water into the slop bucket provided and then began to disrobe. When he was naked he palmed his partially erect manhood to its full and aching length before lining himself up with Margaret's exposed sex.
The pink and pouting flesh of her quim proved far too tempting and Thomas lowered his head to her entrance and dragged his tongue up her quim to the nub of her arousal. Margaret mewled and bucked slightly, unable to move due to her restraints. Thomas pushed two fingers into his wife's copiously wet and welcoming warmth, pumping slowly as he licked and flicked the hard little nub of her clitoris.
Margaret gasped and moaned, squirming with her sex pressed erotically against her husband's busy lips. Thomas could no longer ignore his throbbing pego. He stood up and taking his swollen flesh in hand, he pushed into his wife's slippery quim. Sliding easily into her drenched channel, he was seated to the very entrance of her womb.
